


How Many Wonders (Can One Cavern Hold)

by Atorias_Trenchcoat (vulcan_slash_robot)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Crack, Established Relationship, Face Sitting, Fluff, Ignoring Kink, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Object Insertion, Objectification, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Safeword Use, Shibari, Smut, Subspace, UPDATE turns out the ignoring thing is called:, dont try this at home, in about that order, like a kink of being ignored not someone ignoring the presence of a kink, moderately unrealistic kink, neglect play, unless mutual kink exploration is plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 18:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21141452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcan_slash_robot/pseuds/Atorias_Trenchcoat
Summary: “You gonna leave that in there?” Tony asked, with an incredulous laugh bubbling through his words.Steve  felt himself smile, just a little, in that slightly predatory way that would have made him feel ashamed if it didn’t also make Tony’s eyes go wide and dark.“Yeah.”In which Steve and Tony discover some mutual kinks, and put a lot of interesting things in Tony's ass.





	How Many Wonders (Can One Cavern Hold)

**Author's Note:**

> Please be advised that the vast majority of the things that happen in this fic are medically inadvisable for real people to do with their actual human bodies. Steve and Tony are fictional characters and they get to do whatever they want and won't have to explain to the nice man at the ER why they thought it was a good idea. Please, do not do these things. Please do not put things in butts that are not specifically designed by professionals for safe butt-use.

The first time, it had been an accident. Mostly.

Steve had come home to the penthouse after a long day of meetings to find Tony waiting for him, naked, on knees and elbows on the kitchen table with his ass in the air. His perfect, round, beautiful ass, which was drizzled with chocolate sauce and topped with a dollop of whipped cream and a bright red cherry, stem and all. 

The cream had only just begun to melt--Tony must have been using JARVIS to track Steve’s progress and exactly time his display--but the first little dribble of liquid cream had gone straight down the cleft of Tony’s rear and Steve had all but teleported across the room at the sight, landing in a dining chair and burying his face between Tony’s waiting cheeks without a second thought. By the sound of Tony’s delighted laughter (and then breathy, toe-curling moans) this had indeed been the intended effect. 

Steve was instantly on cloud nine; it hadn’t been the worst day of his life, but it had been long, and dull, and he’d been looking forward to having this evening with Tony, hoping Tony would be in the mood for something intimate and interesting. This was far beyond his expectations. Tony seemed to find it hard to believe that Steve truly and dearly loved to eat him out, and had only actually proposed the activity himself once, before this. That being the case, Steve eagerly lapped all the sticky-sweet from his lover’s skin, relishing the taste, the texture, and the hope that this was a sign that Tony was planning to indulge him like this much, much more often. 

They’d been at it for a while, when it happened. 

Steve had been working his way through the remaining mound of fluffy whipped cream perched on Tony’s tailbone, holding Tony’s cheeks apart with one hand and two fingers deep in Tony’s hole with the other. The cherry, having sunk slowly into its less-and-less firm foamy seat over the last few minutes, fell victim to the gentle pull of gravity and began to slide back and down, leaving a trail of pink through the steady trickle of white that ran down the valley of Tony’s ass and over Steve’s steadily thrusting fingers. Tony shivered at the ticklish sensation and Steve chased the fruit with his mouth, but it was a little too fast for his lazy pursuit, and landed squarely on his knuckles before he could catch it. 

He toyed with it there for a moment, running his tongue over the sweet fruit, then the fluttering muscle behind it, dipping the tip between his fingers to get just a little bit inside, pulling back to taste the cherry again…

And then, without thinking about it, he flicked his tongue forward, shoving the cherry through the space between his fingers with a surprisingly satisfying _ pop _ . Bemused, he sat back to look. He could still see the unnatural red of the dyed fruit where it sat between his index and middle fingers, about half and inch past Tony’s rim. There was a moment, just there, when he could’ve pressed them together, gripped the cherry, and pulled it right back out.

He didn’t.

Instead he stared, mesmerized, as he pulled back his hand and Tony’s hole quickly closed over the cherry, almost seeming to wink at him. The idea _ for safekeeping _ flitted across Steve’s mind, and he shivered. 

“The hell was that?” Tony panted, twisting to look back over his shoulder.

“Cherry,” Steve answered, voice rough. He was still staring, watching the stem as it was pulled slowly backward, sinking into the tight furl of Tony’s closed asshole, until it disappeared. 

“You gonna leave it there?” Tony retorted, with an incredulous laugh bubbling through his words.

Steve tore his gaze from Tony’s vulnerable hole to lock eyes with him. He felt himself smile, just a little, in that slightly predatory way that would have made him feel ashamed if it didn’t also always make Tony’s eyes go wide and dark. 

“Yeah.”

That first time, Steve had kept Tony there on the table, teasing and tasting and touching him but not penetrating him again. He’d kneaded Tony’s prostate from the outside, knuckles behind his balls, not-accidentally making him feel the cherry rolling around inside him, whispering sticky, filthy praise against his skin until he fell apart, coming with a shout and a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table. Steve had then carried him to the shower and climbed in with him, to help rinse away the excess sugar and dairy. Once he was clean on the outside, Steve had leaned him back against the wall, just out of the spray, then reached between his legs and carefully fished the much-abused cherry from inside him, like a polite and helpful gentleman.

If Tony had then thrown his legs around Steve’s waist, and Steve had then pinned him to the wall and fucked him stupid while holding a flesh-warm cherry in his mouth, stem sticking out between his grinning teeth as Tony screamed with pleasure, well, that was nobody’s business but his and Tony’s.

They’d had a very intense conversation about that cherry, later, and then a very intense fuck about the conversation, and within a week Steve had found Tony waiting for him in bed with a whole  _ bowl  _ of cherries, and that had just been the beginning. 

****

“Remind me, again,” Tony gasped. His fingers twisted tightly in the sheets. “How does this game work?”

“Well,” Steve’s answer was low and warm, an indulgent rumble. “If you do a good job, I’ll take out a prize, and you can have it. If you think I’ve done a good job, I’ll fetch one for myself.”

“A good job of wha--ah!--what?” Tony held himself as still as he could manage and tried to relax, but the continuing sensation of Steve’s fingers petting over his hole as it slowly re-closed was making that somewhat difficult to achieve. He craned his neck to look back at Steve, doing his best to look unamused, but Steve met his eyes and gave him one of those soft, hungry smiles that Tony liked so much, and Tony knew without having to be told that his own face had gone all desperate and needy again. He sighed, wistful with want, and watched Steve dip his hand back into the basket of plastic Easter eggs. They’d filled them together, with little toys and trinkets and treats. Bits of fruit, gummy candies. One of them had a vibrating cock ring in it, which Tony was hoping to earn early in the process.

Tony watched, hazy with pleasure, as Steve picked out the next egg, drizzled a little lube on it, and brought his hand up behind Tony, out of his line of sight. Tony’s mouth dropped open on a moan.

“Don’t worry,” Steve assured him, his voice as gentle as the hand that was easing the narrow end of the egg into Tony’s body. “You’re doing great already.”

“Then when do I get a prize?” Tony huffed. His voice went strangled, briefly, as the widest point of the egg passed his rim and the pressure let up. Steve had taken his hands away, settling one on each cheek and holding them apart, staring between them with rapt attention. Tony flushed a little more than he was already. He was so exposed, on display. Steve bent down, lightning quick, and nipped the meat of Tony’s left cheek with his teeth, and straightened up again just as fast to watch Tony’s hole clench in response, closing over the egg and tucking it away inside himself under his own power. Steve licked his lips, entranced, then took a deep, fortifying breath and reached for another egg.

He met Tony’s eyes again, just for a glance, as he picked up the lube again. His smile was big and genuine, but still very, very hungry. “Not until after I’ve finished loading the prize machine, sweetheart.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut. He let his face sink into the pillow, and lost himself in the feeling of taking the next egg from Steve’s hand. He couldn’t see how many were left in the basket from here, and, honestly, with Steve touching him and filling him and making plans for him, he couldn’t be bothered to worry much about it. 

****

Steve arched his back, pressing the back of his head down into the pillows. Tony’s hands were planted firmly on the mattress to either side of his chest. Steve spread his legs a little wider, savoring his turn to welcome Tony between them, giving himself over to the feeling of Tony’s fierce, thorough thrusting, the force of him, sliding home inside, over and over, hot and full and  _ hard _ . There was nothing better in the world. 

Except.

“Hold, hold on, honey,” Steve breathed. He reached up one hand to thread his fingers through Tony’s hair and get his attention. He waited until Tony looked at him. Steve tried--very hard--to keep a straight face. “I think we need a little more lube.”

Tony buckled at the elbows, his forehead plonking down in the middle of Steve’s chest. He cursed fluently for a few seconds before pushing himself back up. “Okay,” he panted. “Okay, get it for me, please?”

Tony pulled back, unsheathing himself from Steve’s ass, and shuffled forward. He brought himself up on one knee, with his left foot planted on the bed outside of Steve’s thigh. Steve trailed his hand down from Tony’s face, petting a long line down his body, and Tony squinted down at him, mutinous. Steve just smiled and brought his left hand up to stroke his boyfriend’s cock in apology as the other pressed farther back. Tony’s annoyed facade melted at once, face twisting with pleasure and overstimulation. He grabbed on tightly to Steve’s shoulders, struggling to keep himself upright in the face of so much sensation.

Steve kept his eyes on Tony’s face, and kept stroking gently over his impossibly-hard erection with one hand. But all he could really think about, all he wanted to feel, was the sweet, tight, slick warmth around the fingers of his right hand as he reached them deep into Tony and found what he’d left there. He managed to grip it with his fingertips and gently pulled it free, slowly, until Tony’s body let it go.

“Here, sweetheart,” he whispered, offering Tony the body-warm bottle of lube.

“You son of a bitch,” Tony gasped, but he was smiling. He’d looked a bit alarmed, earlier, when Steve had paused a moment too long with the bottle in hand, and turned a speculative eye to Tony’s ass instead of placing it on the end table. It was a pretty big bottle. They tended to go through the stuff pretty quickly. But the bottle was long and narrow and rounded at all corners, and in the end, well. 

In the end.

Tony took the bottle from him, now, and squeezed a good-sized dollop into his hand before passing it back. Steve capped it dutifully and held it up again. Tony swore some more and spared a swipe of slick for the top end of the bottle before lathering the rest, furiously, over his own cock. He whimpered at the first touch of the cap against his hole, but the bottle lifted right out of Steve’s hand before he’d pressed it more than halfway in, the curve of its design and Tony’s eager body pulling it inside without his help. Still, he held Tony there and watched until it was fully inside, stored safely for later, Tony closed up tight behind it.

“Oh my god, Steve, please,” Tony was nearly sobbing with desperation. 

“Yeah, yeah baby, get back down here, get back here and give it to me, oh honey,” Steve moaned, frantic now, needing him, as Tony scrambled back into position. He let out a long, satisfied sigh when Tony slipped back into him, now good and slick and just this side of sane.

He hadn’t needed the extra lube, really, but the reminder, for both of them, of what Tony had inside him? What he’d let Steve do to him? 

That was  _ exactly  _ what they’d been missing. 

****

“Honey, have you seen the remote?”

Tony looked up from his phone, frowning. “JARVIS can change the channel for you.”

Steve had gone a bit pink around the ears, and he had one hand on the back of his neck, in that adorable way he did when he was flustered. “Yeah, well, I guess, but I feel awkward asking out loud every time.”

“And you like to know where things are,” Tony added, smiling. He sidled over and ruffled Steve’s hair, to make it clear he meant it fondly. “Control freak.”

“That, too,” Steve agreed. “Although one of the reasons I like to know where things are is that I’m starting to wonder…” he trailed off, with a faint grimace, looking pointedly at Tony’s midsection.

Tony frowned, suddenly concerned. “Uh.” 

“I don’t  _ think  _ so?” Steve mused. He set his hands on Tony’s waist and twisted him slightly from side to side, as if he could figure it out by looking at Tony in profile. 

“Babe, I have no idea, I always lose track of what you’re doing back there. You’re the only one who knows what I’ve got right now.”

Steve grimaced again, apologetic this time. “Do you mind if I check?”

Tony rolled his eyes, hoping that he wasn’t as flushed as he suddenly felt. “I guess, if it’ll make you feel better,” he allowed. 

Casually, like this was no more interesting than tying his shoes, Tony circled the couch and kneeled on the cushions, bending over the backrest. Steve followed and stepped up behind him. He pulled Tony’s sweatpants and underwear down to about mid-thigh and, with as much ceremony as he would have shown in lifting up a couch cushion, slid his entire hand up Tony’s ass to the wrist.

Tony gripped the back of the couch harder, struggling to keep his breathing even and stay relaxed. His body was getting good at this, with all the practice he was getting, and he was loose, god, so loose and still so wet after the morning he and Steve had had so far. They’d taken a break, though, and had been going about their business fully dressed and presentable, as if Tony wasn’t still stuffed full of whatever Steve had seen fit to stash inside him almost two hours ago. 

“Hmmm,” Steve hummed, thoughtful, rummaging around, gently running his hand over whatever he could reach. “I don’t feel any buttons?”

Tony bit down on his lip and managed, just barely, to not thrust back against Steve’s hand. That was the point, really, after all. It wasn’t about how good it felt. It did, obviously, it felt incredible, but what had taken this game from  _ good  _ to  ** _amazing _ ** was when they’d started treating Tony’s insides like a container, a handy place for Steve to keep a few things he might want later, safe and out of the way. Tony wasn’t acting as a lover, right now, but as a carrying case.

If anyone had suggested such a practice to him a few months ago he would’ve nodded, smiled, and walked away very quickly. Now, though, with Steve pawing blindly through his contents much as one searches for a lost compact at the bottom of a large purse, he was about ready to combust on the spot. 

“Might be behind something else,” Tony suggested, a little breathless despite his best efforts. “It’s a bit crowded in there.”

“Good point,” Steve agreed. There was a tug at Tony’s rim, then a sudden shift of pressure and Steve’s hand was gone. “Oh, that’s where I left that.”

Tony half-turned, expecting to see the missing remote, only to find Steve calmly peeling a banana. He snorted, and Steve smiled at him. Steve took a bite, innocence writ large on his face, and shifted the banana to his left hand. Before Tony could realize it was coming and brace himself, Steve’s right hand had dipped back between his legs and smoothly penetrated him again. 

All the breath punched out of Tony at the intrusion, and he mentally chastised himself for doing a poor job of keeping his composure, that time. Still, that was part of the game, too. Steve liked to watch Tony slowly lose his grip on his cool, as things went on. But Tony liked to make him work for that, dammit. 

Steve’s fist closed on something else, and was gone again before Tony had gotten properly used to having it.

“Egg?” Steve mused aloud. “How long has this been in there?” 

_ “What.” _

“Oh no, no no, I remember, that was this morning, it’s fine,” Steve hastened to assure him, stroking Tony’s lower back and laughing at himself as he rolled the plastic easter egg in his hand. “I found it in the fruit bowl, that’s right. That didn’t seem like the right place for it, I remember.”

“Jesus, don’t scare me like that,” Tony scolded, but there was laughter in it, and the rush of relief was worth the adrenaline that had come before.

Steve gave him a little warning this time, petting the inside of his thigh briefly before breaching again, long fingers gliding effortlessly past his defenses and gently probing through his remaining treasures.

“Steve,” Tony sighed.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, I’ve got you, just a little more,”

Tony grunted softly at the tug of something else being removed, but Steve didn’t comment on what it was, and Tony didn’t ask. “Steeeeve,” he whispered.

“You’re alright,” Steve replied, soft and fond, stretching him again.

Tony agreed, he was great, but that wasn’t the point. “Steve,” he laughed, enjoying the way the motion made him clench around Steve’s wrist. 

“There’s only three more, love, you can do it,” Steve promised.

“That’s nice, and you’re welcome to get them if you want them, I’m just saying,” Tony sighed, dreamy, with his head pillowed on his arms and his ass in the air for Steve, “I can see the remote on the kitchen counter from here, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

“Mmmm,” Tony’s eyes drifted shut. He felt too good here, with the sofa soft underneath him and Steve’s hand--nearly his whole forearm, it felt like--thick and warm inside him, to care what was going to happen next. He was just...here, and ready, open and ready for Steve, to use however he pleased. 

“Well,” Steve said, after a moment, his voice thick. He could tell, when Tony was like this, and he didn’t like to waste it. Tony appreciated that very much, yes. “Might as well put these back, then.”

Tony sank deeper into the cushions and into the moment, patient and passive as Steve re-packed him, slipping all sorts of treasures in deep. He even waited, motionless, while Steve fetched a fresh banana from the kitchen. By the time Steve pulled his pants back up and tucked him into them, he was too gone to even notice or care whether he was hard or not. He just went where Steve put him, and found himself curled up on top of his boyfriend on the sofa, with his face nestled into the plump, cotton-covered cushion of Steve’s muscular chest. He sighed, utterly happy, and let the floaty feeling carry him off to sleep, safe and warm and full of whatever Steve wanted him to have.

****

Steve groaned in frustration. He was going to be late. “JARVIS, can you call my phone? Let me know if it rings on another floor.” 

He’d looked absolutely everywhere, even under the dresser, and now he was going to be  _ late _ , and it felt so twenty-first-century of him to refuse to leave without a phone but he  _ needed  _ it and he was  _ late-- _

A ringback tone played through the speakers in the bedroom. Steve strained his ears for the sound of ringing, but couldn’t catch any.

There was, however, a loud crash from the direction of the living room, and Steve promptly forgot about his phone, bolting for the door.

“Tony?” he called.

“Present,” Tony’s voice drifted back. Steve followed it and found him on the floor, slumped against the wall near the entryway. “What the fuck, babe.”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, half in a panic already. Tony’s brow was sweaty, and his face was flushed. Was he coming down with something?

“Peachy,” Tony laughed, looking pinched. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

“What? I don’t…” But, there, muffled and distant, Steve could hear the opening notes of  _ Back in Black _ and a mechanical buzzing. He blinked, looked down, followed the sound. “ _ Oh my god! _ JARVIS, hang up!”

“Is that your  _ phone?!”  _ Tony clutched at his own stomach, appalled. “You asshole!”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve offered, mortified. JARVIS had ended the call with only a soft beep for confirmation. The lack of verbal response should have been Steve’s first clue, when he’d asked J to make the call. JARVIS never spoke up if he detected an intimate situation in progress. 

“You leave your phone! In my ass! And then call it! With vibrate turned on!” Tony was laughing now, but still panting and flushed. “Son of a bitch, I’ve been killed. How dare you. How very dare you. I was on my way out, Rogers, I have shit to do.”

“God, I know, I’m so sorry.”

“Well, don’t just stand there. Phone out, dick in, let’s go.”

“Tony, what?” Steve blinked. “We’ve got places to be, there’s no time for sex.”

Tony glared at him, hard, and said, simply: “Feldspar.”

Steve sat back on his heels, blood draining from his face. “Oh.” He forced himself to breathe through the tightening of his chest. He’d fucked up now, alright. “Oh. God. Okay. I’m so sorry, this is my fault. We can take a break, as long as you want, it’s, I’d never want to do anything you don’t--”

“Steve what the fuck are you talking about.”

He looked up, brow furrowed in confusion. “You safeworded. You want to stop.”

“I safeworded the idea of you applying a  _ Nokia Jackhammer _ to my prostate, without warning, and then  _ leaving  _ me like this, you dingus. Absolutely not, you will not do that. Take me back to bed and make it up to me. It can be quick. But you better damn well be ready to be ten minutes later to wherever you’re going if you’re going to drop a shock like that on me, you walnut. Let’s go.”

Steve was, in fact, just over fifteen minutes late to his meeting, but if Maria Hill noticed that his jacket was a little rumpled and his hair wasn’t quite as orderly as usual, she had the grace not to mention it. 

****

Tony breathed out, long and slow, not a thing on his mind. His eyes were open, but there wasn’t much to see, just the soft glow of the living room lamps making patterns on the ceiling. There was music on, faintly, something soft and mellow with lots of piano in it, but that felt far away; much farther than the gentle scratch of pencil on paper that occasionally caught his ear. Even that, though, he didn’t spare any real attention for. He knew if he turned toward that sound he’d see Steve, slightly hunched, curled around the sketchpad that lay propped on his knee, with that cute little furrow between his brows, and maybe even a corner of tongue caught between his teeth. Normally that would have been worth moving Heaven and Earth to see, but right now…

Right now Tony was at peace, and he wasn’t about to change that on purpose. 

Steve wasn’t paying him any mind, either. Which was probably quite a feat of will on his part, and that thought made Tony smile. 

Their games had continued to grow more interesting, as Steve gained confidence over time. Knowing that Tony wouldn't hesitate to shut him down if he wasn’t happy had only emboldened him further, empowered him to take more liberties. Lately, he’d taken to stocking Tony up early in the evening once they’d come home to each other, and would fetch things back out whenever he felt like it, without warning. Tony could be sitting fully dressed on the sofa, halfway through a movie and snuggled into Steve’s side, then suddenly there would be a hand down the back of his pants and he’d have to sit very carefully still as it snaked around and up into him then back out, leaving him a little lighter and a lot harder. A week ago Steve had done exactly that, and then offered Tony a section of freshly-peeled orange, and Tony had been so focused on pretending not to notice the whole event that he hadn’t put two and two together until he put the fruit in his mouth, and it was warm.

Disguising their games as a normal and domestic evening was very much to Tony’s taste, and to Steve’s, but every so often Steve liked to go on long, unguided, wandering tours of the internet, just to see what he’d stumble into, and not too long ago he’d tripped over the word  _ shibari  _ and fallen face-first into a big pile of relevant images. The immediate result of this incident had been three fresh hot doses of super-soldier spunk delivered into Tony’s body with great enthusiasm and in quick succession, followed by a very happy, very sweaty, very interesting conversation about how one might discreetly procure several hundred yards of silk rope in this day and age, and then, there was now.

Tony was at peace.

There was no need to think, or move. Not that he could do much of the latter anyway. He’d lost that power, given it freely to Steve, somewhere long ago in the before times, before Tony’s world had been all soft and slow and perfect. Steve had taken all his clothes away, and touched him, so much, all over, over and over, leaving complicated dark lines of soft heavy rope behind to keep him still and make him perfect. 

Tony felt perfect, now. Perfect and beautiful. All done up, just for Steve, just how Steve wanted him. Steve had laced the ropes over his chest, first, making and elaborately knotted framework that traced the lines of his bare pecs--his  _ breast, _ Steve had called it, just to make him blush--and leaving a crisp, diamond-shaped window around the arc reactor. With Tony’s torso decorated, Steve had laid him down, draping him artfully over a special, firm cushion that would keep his back arched, with his knees on the floor in front and the top of his head brushing the ground behind him. His legs were spread wide, knees apart, and Steve had carefully lashed his calves to his arms along the sides of the cushion, locking him in position. A few more loops of rope, more decorative than restrictive, wound up from his calves and around his thighs, accenting the spread of his legs. Steve had just been having fun, at that point. 

Steve had then proved his work practical--at least, the structurally important parts of it--by looping his fingers under the lattice of ropes that cradled Tony’s chest and using them to lift him off the floor, cushion and all. That was what had really tipped Tony over into the wonderful softness he’d been feeling for so long, now. He had trouble letting go of himself, sometimes, most times, and all the gentle attention of being undressed and bound had been lovely and warm, but had left him mostly feeling a little shivery and anxious. That soaring moment of leaving the ground in Steve’s hands, that full-color illustration of his helpless state, had knocked him straight out of his own head in no uncertain terms. Steve had carried him from bedroom to living room like that, and settled him on the long end of the chaise, like an offering on the altar.

Tony breathed again, and there was the softest hint of a moan in it, because there was a hand inside him. Just for a moment, warm and gentle, but cursory, as Steve found what he wanted and took it from him. The slide was long; it must have been a pencil case. Special cases, tonight, that Tony had made for him, for this. They looked lovely and artful, if left out on a writing desk, but they were sleek and cornerless and water-tight, stainless steel. The latches were strong, and inset, button-press to open. Steve had one for pencils and one for pens, and he traded between them often, carefully replacing whichever one he didn’t need into the safety of Tony’s body. The cool press of fresh metal replaced what had been taken, and Tony’s lips fell open to another soft, happy sound. Steve’s hand followed the case back in, and that was even better, the slightly rough warmth of his fingertips contrasting deeply with the smooth, cold steel. 

Where Tony rested, he was slightly in front of Steve and to his left, so that Tony faced away toward an upside-down view of the edge of the ceiling above the TV, but his arched back, elevated hips and spread legs left his hole open and available and easy-to-reach for Steve. Steve’s left hand had tended to rest on the cushion between Tony’s legs, or on his thigh, absently tracing a rope, and every so often lingering, fondly, over his cock and balls before dipping behind them and in once more. 

The pencil cases weren’t all Tony was carrying for Steve tonight. Steve’s good erasers, for one thing, were each held separately, in individual eggs. Steel eggs, much like the pencil cases--the plastic easter eggs they had started with had been retired, some time ago, after one had failed spectacularly in a jelly-bean related incident that Tony preferred not to think about. (No sharp edges had been involved, thank god. They hadn’t cracked, it was just that the threads that held the two halves screwed together hadn’t been designed to tolerate the internal pressures of orgasm, and Steve hadn’t been able to find all the candies by hand, and the less said about Tony’s bathroom experiences over the following week, the better.)

Steve’s knuckles rolled across Tony’s prostate as he felt around for what he wanted next. There was a push, a pull, a shift and a give, the slow tumble of some unknowable number of rounded objects shuffling out of the way of Steve’s questing fingers, low in his belly. Tony hadn’t been able to see what he’d been given, could only guess from context, from the things he’d glimpsed Steve doing after his cache had been plundered. He’d tipped his head up to watch, though, while Steve had been filling him, and he’d sworn he could see movement behind his own abs. Whatever was in him was a  _ lot _ . 

Another little breath punched out of him. Tony felt flush, hot and tight all over, stretched and full and breathless, like Steve had reached all the way up and pressed his lungs flat to his spine. His body tensed, trying reflexively to run from anything that was so  _ much _ , but the ropes held him tight, put him back down before he could get up. Satisfaction rushed over him. He couldn’t escape, wouldn’t be able to get away and miss this. Steve would never let that happen. He had no choice left but to stay still and feel this, to be so terribly open and owned and loved.

Tears rolled down his face. Steve was saying something, his voice low and gentle, and it soothed Tony’s ragged edges, smoothed him over where he was raw. Somebody was laughing. Oh, Tony was laughing. That made sense. He was so happy. So perfectly happy. He laughed until he didn’t need to, and went back to breathing. Steve’s hand wasn’t inside him anymore, and that seemed like a shame, but he felt more full than before and couldn’t hear any more drawing. Maybe Steve was done, and had given him all the cases at once, to keep for him until he wanted to draw again. Tony breathed very deep and felt the weight between his hips. Heavy pencils, heavy boxes.

There was a sound, and Tony should know that sound, but knowing things was for other people, right now. Steve would take care of it, if it was important. Now there was a feeling, like rain, but the rain was warm, and only for a minute, and it made him so happy to be rained on but the knowing why was far away, and it wasn’t until Steve bent down and kissed his forehead that the knowing came home. The sound was the sound that Steve makes when he comes, and he had come all over Tony and oh that was such a wonderful thing to know and Tony wanted to know it forever.

Tony woke up. Barely. In the academic sense, at least.

The first thing he noticed was that he was facedown, which was different, and meant that tied-up time was over, which was a slight bummer, but the thing he was facedown  _ on  _ was Steve’s chest, so it was hard to be too sad. He pressed his face into the pillow of muscle, making circles with his cheek like an overgrown, billionaire kitten. Steve chuckled.

“Morning, honey,” he rumbled. Tony dragged his eyes open and twisted until he could look up at Steve’s smile, which turned softer as he watched. “There’s my fella.”

“Morn-ning?” Tony interrupted himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. “Surely not.”

“Well, technically, but only for about the last five minutes. Lots of time for bed, still. Here.”

He plucked a bottle of water from the table and held it toward Tony. He cracked the top and helped Tony sit up a little, but Tony couldn't help casting a suspicious eye over the bottle, and the assortment of rounded, steel objects it had been sitting next to.

“That wasn’t in me, was it?” he asked flatly.

Steve laughed. “No, baby, you’ve made yourself clear. Yours is from the fridge.”

Tony huffed, but accepted the water. Steve got a particular thrill from eating and drinking things that had been spent time inside of Tony, and Tony was fine with that. Honestly, Tony liked it. What Tony did not like was being handed a nice big bottle of thick, syrupy, pulpy Naked juice that turned out to be the temperature of human blood. Water was less objectionable at ass-degrees-fahrenheit, but it was easier to make a blanket rule about beverages than to do a comprehensive taste-test and compose a yes/no list. 

This water was still cool, when Tony brought it to his lips, because Steve was a good boyfriend and a good we-don’t-use-kink-titles-in-this-house-they-make-Steve-uncomfortable, and wouldn’t give Tony anything that he knew was unwanted. Tony had to hold the bottle in both hands, though, because his arms were pleasantly sore and noodly, as was the rest of him. He shifted a little to brace his back against the sofa so that he wouldn’t tip over, with both arms busy. The movement caused an unexpected pattern of draftiness over his body. Tony glanced down and noticed that while his ropes had all gone away and his cargo had been retrieved while he was too out of it to notice, he had not been dressed, exactly, but was currently draped with a light blanket and only wearing a large button-up long-sleeved shirt, undone down the front. The same one Steve had been wearing earlier, and indeed, when Tony turned to confirm this, he found Steve still wearing his dark jeans, but now only with a simple white t-shirt. It was a good look.

Tony maybe got a bit distracted looking, because there was a lot less water in the bottle than he could account for by the time his brain was ready to think about things again.

“Get a lot of drawing done?” Tony asked, casually, as if he hadn’t been staring vacantly at Steve’s body for the last several minutes. 

Steve smiled, not fooled. “A bit. Wanna see?”

Tony did wanna, and eagerly traded his almost-empty water for the sketchbook Steve offered. The moment his eyes lit on the page, he burst out laughing.

“You were supposed to be ignoring me, you goof!” 

Steve’s face was pink, and he was laughing along, but he kept cutting bashful glances at the page. The whole surface of the paper was covered in detail studies of Tony’s body as it had been not long ago, naked and bound and bent over backwards. Steve had done half a dozen quick sketches, here, working out how to capture the shapes and shades of different parts of Tony as they were framed and tied; hands, feet, the width of the space between his knees, the arch of his chest. The sketches were unfinished, hasty and smudged, and the page was dotted with greasy-looking fingerprints where Steve must have forgotten himself and steadied the book with his slick left hand.

“Sweetheart, I love you,” Steve began, “And I’m happy to do my best to convince you that you are being ignored whenever you want, for as long as you want, but if you honestly think anything else in the world, fact or fiction, is going to hold my attention when I’m six inches away from the man I love, and he’s…” he fumbled for words, mouth opening and closing on silence, eyes wide and staring into the middle distance at the memories. Tony kissed him, to put him out of his misery. Steve received him with enthusiasm, crushing him close and licking into his mouth until they were both gasping for breath.

“Safe to say you enjoyed it, then?” Tony teased.

“Very much,” Steve purred back, running his fingers through Tony’s hair. “You feeling okay, now?”

“Mmmmhmm,” Tony blinked slowly. It was hard to be anything but completely relaxed, especially with Steve’s nails skritching gently along his scalp. A memory struck, and he went warm all over. “Oh. You jerked off on me, didn’t you?”

Steve ducked his head, grinning. “Might’a did that,” he admitted in a mumble. “You remember that part?”

“Yeah, that was really nice. Did you think I was asleep?”

“No, but right before that I asked how you were doing, and you said, and I quote, ‘Tony’s not here right now’.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Steve insisted, giggling at Tony’s disbelief. 

They fell back into an easy cuddle, then after a moment Tony’s curiosity took over and he started turning pages in the sketchbook. The next page was focused on his more private parts, delicate shading making his hole glisten wetly where it stretched around Steve’s palm, with his cock only half-hard and listing drunkenly above. On the third page Steve had taken some artistic license--he was quick to assure Tony that these few drawings had been imagined, not accurate--and had penciled Tony with his belly distended and swollen, with corners of improbable objects protruding from his taut, straining asshole. A skillet handle. The base of a lamp. Two fingers of an Iron Man gauntlet, with enough bulk behind it to suggest at least half a suit.

“Can’t help but notice there’s no ink on these, dear,” Tony observed, flipping to another page and finding it focused almost entirely on the tracery of ropes across his chest. 

“You never heard of sketching before?” Steve retorted, deadpan.

“Sketching is allowed, and admired,” Tony drawled back. “Just felt like you were fetching your pens pretty often, for a guy who wasn’t using--oh wow.”

Tony had turned the last page, in mid-sass, and found what Steve must have been doing all his mini-studies in preparation for. One full, complete portrait, showing Tony in his entirety. Tony’s breath caught; Steve had captured it, that blissful feeling, that absolute rightness that had come over him, the way he hadn’t carried a single ounce of tension in his body or soul for untold minutes and had simply belonged.

“That’s, um,” Tony tried to parse his feelings into words. “That’s an awful lot of jism on me there babe, did you do all that or is this one made up, too?”

Tony wasn’t so good at words about feelings.

Steve snorted on a laugh. “Some of it’s yours, you know.”

“Is it?” Tony cocked his head. “Did I?”

“You did. I was putting a case back in you and got distracted fiddling around, because you kept making such amazing noises about it, and you just...fell apart for me. It was really something,” Steve said with feeling. “That was when I asked if you were okay, and then, ah, felt compelled to join you.”

“Oh my god is that what that was.” Tony stared wide-eyed at the drawing, replaying the moment in his head. And then, after a beat, “I love you.”

Steve laughed, and kissed his hair, and carried him off to bed. 

****

Steve hummed, long and low and blissful, eliciting a soft gasp from far overhead. It was early, still--earlier by Tony’s clock than by Steve’s, but what else is new--pale fingers of dawn still painting the eastern faces of the buildings outside their window. The pair of them hadn’t yet been out of bed, but Steve had blinked awake a while ago and instantly succumbed to the need to be closer to Tony, and had slowly wound himself around his man with enough gentle persistence that eventually Tony had roused enough to cuddle back. Then the kissing had started, then the shorts had come off, and then, after a surprisingly brief interval of quiet, heartfelt begging, Steve was in his favorite place.

He was flat on his back, head on the pillows and sinking slowly deeper into them under nearly the full weight of his entire boyfriend. Tony’s thighs rested over Steve’s chest, knees bracketing his ribs and feet tucked behind his shoulders. Tony’s hands couldn’t seem to come to rest, fluttering over Steve’s belly, and arms, and chest, and Tony’s own body almost at random. That was fine, though, because Steve didn’t need any help holding him up, and the less Tony tried to help, the more Steve got to put him exactly where he wanted him. 

Right now, he had his hands full of Tony’s hips, caressing them tenderly but also pulling gently and inescapably downward, pressing Tony to his face, giving himself all the leverage he needed to shove his tongue past the urgent flutter of Tony’s rim. Tony’s cheeks settled softly over most of his face, round and perfect and neatly cutting off his air, but Steve could go quite a while without air, especially if he got this in trade. He gave Tony one last firm tug down before easing him upward for a breather, dragging his tongue along the muscle as it passed.

He drew a deep breath, and another, distractedly pressing kisses to Tony’s cheeks. 

“There’s something in there,” Steve eventually rasped out. Damn, his voice was so hoarse from eating Tony out, he was making  _ himself  _ hard.

“What?” Tony laughed, somewhere above him. “Again with this? Babe, you have got to keep track of your toys. I’m not a safe deposit box. Think of this,” Tony’s hand appeared and dealt a ringing slap to his own ass, making it jiggle in front of Steve’s face, “more like a baggage check. Happy to keep your things for a while, but leave them too long and they’re likely to be disposed of.”

Steve laughed in return, grateful that Tony couldn’t see his face from this angle. That had been an intentional choice, on Steve’s part. “Well,” he started, in a teasing tone, as he brought one hand around to probe at Tony’s hole. “Sometimes you just look so sad when you’re all emptied out, I can’t be held accountable for the urge to leave you something to hang onto.”

Tony’s reply was lost under a slightly strangled gasp, due to Steve gently sliding three fingers inside him. After a second, he tried again. “I thought we learned our lesson about that, after the thing with the x-ray.”

Steve froze, an unreasonable blush flooding his face at the reminder. How could he have known that Bruce would be testing a new medical imaging technology in the lab he sometimes shared with Tony, that day. How could he have known he would ask Tony to step into it for a quick snapshot, just to see if it was working. How could he have known that the strange device Tony had stepped behind would fill the screen of Bruce’s computer with a crystal-clear image of every detail of the interior of a healthy male torso, including the unmistakable outline of the arc reactor, and the equally unmistakable outline of a bottle of Pom Wonderful. 

At least Tony hadn’t known what the machine was for, either, which made Steve feel somewhat better about his failure to catch what was about to happen. Tony had returned from behind the device to find Bruce and Steve staring in blank shock at the screen, come around to see what was so arresting about it, taken one look and promptly strode out of the room without a word. 

_ I can explain,  _ Steve had said, hesitantly. To which Bruce had only replied  _ Please, don’t _ . 

Steve cleared his throat and resumed his exploration. “Well. We learned about not letting you take things out of the penthouse, I think.” His fingers finally closed around something hard and smooth, and he tugged it out. “Here we are. Trying to lay eggs in my mouth, Stark?”

Tony huffed, and batted Steve’s hand back when he tried to offer the egg. “That’s your prize, slugger, you open it.”

A broad, uncontainable smile crept across Steve’s face, and he was again glad that Tony couldn't see him. That was quickly turning out to be the best part of this plan. “Whatever you say, Shellhead,” Steve agreed. He opened the egg with a deft flick of the wrist. He was not shaking, thank you very much, because this was going perfectly, and he was not at all worried about what Tony would say. Not. At. All. “But I think this is for y--what the hell?”

“Babe?” Tony sounded worried, and there was a funny tone to it, that Steve probably would have picked up on, under other circumstances.

“This is the wrong ring,” Steve muttered, too shocked to care what he’d just said. 

There, settled in the velvet interior of one of their steel eggs, was an entirely different wedding ring than the one he’d picked out.

“What?” Tony asked again, this time much less worried and much more honestly confused. 

“This is not the ring I bought you. Where did this come from?”

“It’s not the  _ who now?” _ Tony’s voice shot up.

“It’s not--hold on.”

Steve set the ring, the wrong ring, and its egg aside, and sat up abruptly. Tony flailed, but landed face-down exactly where Steve had meant to put him, without enough force to do more than startle him. Steve thrust his hand into Tony’s upraised ass before the man could protest. He honestly wasn’t thinking, beyond being certain of where he’d left that ring and so confused at not having found it. But there, after a few seconds of blind groping, he had another egg in hand. 

He drew it back, consciously gentling his motions a bit, making soothing circles on Tony’s lower back with his other hand. 

When he opened this egg, his ring was inside. He smiled. 

“Here, this--Tony?” Tony was still face down, breathing heavily. When Steve rolled him over, his eyes were glassy and his expression dazed. “Oh, honey,” Steve said fondly. He scooped Tony up in his arms and rearranged him to lie back against Steve’s chest. “Come back to me, sweetheart, I need you present for this. Come on, love.”

Tony blinked a few times, languidly at first, and then harder. “ _ Was _ present,” he protested, “Somebody’s a caveman. No manners,” he said with a huff.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“S’nice,” Tony allowed with a shrug. He shook himself, and he looked much more sober as he went on. “Not the best for remaining totally cognizant, though. So what gives, Rogers?”

“Well,” and now he could see Tony’s face, and Tony could see his, if he looked up, and that made it so much harder. “I, uh, I wanted to give you this.”

Tony took the second egg and twisted it open. His brow furrowed.

“This isn’t the ring I made you.”

“You...you  _ made _ ?” Steve’s heart went liquid in his chest. He scrabbled for the other ring, rescuing it from the tangle of sheets. “Is that where this one came from?”

“What, did you think some rando off the street hid an engagement ring up my ass?” Tony laughed. He took the ring from Steve’s hand and started rolling it between his fingers. “It’s the same metal as my suits. Uh,  _ from  _ one of my suits, actually. From the suit I was wearing when we met.”

His voice grew thicker with each word, and Steve couldn’t help noticing that Tony was also a big believer in the if-I-don’t-look-at-him-this-will-be-easier school of proposal delivery.

“Because I love you,” Tony went on, doggedly, with a covert sniffle, “I love you and I want to keep you, and, and I hope, you would…”

“Tony,” Steve whispered around a smile. Tony was trembling in his arms. “Ask me the question. Tony, ask the question so I can say yes.”

Tony looked up at him, hopeful and open, and Steve suddenly didn’t know why he’d been hiding from those beautiful eyes all morning. 

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Steve said at once, almost before Tony had finished asking. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Tony’s head quirked to the side, but the joyful smile that had overtaken him at Steve’s answer didn’t fade. “Why are you asking, we just did this. Didn’t we just do this?”

“I bought a ring, I get to say the words,” Steve laughed.

“Oh my god,” Tony’s eyes went wide with wonder. “Is that what this is?”

“Did  _ you  _ think some rando off the street had hidden an engagement ring up your ass?”

“Shut up I wasn’t thinking straight. Oh my god you bought me a ring.” Tony was staring at Steve’s ring now, as if he couldn’t believe such a thing existed.

“Well, some of us aren’t metalsmiths,” Steve said, a little bit apologetic. 

“You hush I love it. You bought me a ring.” Tony blinked. “Wait. This was in me. When did you do that?”

“While you were sleeping,” Steve admitted, sheepish. “I was really afraid it would wake you up, but you just took it and went on snoring. When did you hide yours?”

“Before bed. Oh my god you bought a ring and stuck it up my ass while I was asleep. I love you.” He turned his face up to look at Steve again, fresh joy dawning in his eyes. “Steve, we’re engaged!”

“We are!” Steve agreed with a matching grin.

Tony leaned toward him with clear intent, but Steve clapped a hand over his own mouth before Tony could get there.

“Assmouth,” he said, muffled. “No kisses.”

Tony made a face at him. “Go wash, then,” he insisted, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “I wanna make out with my fiancé. Wait, I want my ring first.”

He held out his hand, waggling his fingers demandingly. Steve took Tony’s hand in his, retrieved the correct ring, and slid it carefully onto his finger. “You have to wear this forever, you know,” he tried to make it a joke, he really did.

“I know,” Tony had no more luck keeping his tone light than Steve had, so that was okay. “Want yours?”

“More than anything.”

Steve couldn’t help holding his breath as Tony took his hand in turn and slid the simple band into place. 

“Now go,” Tony ordered him, with a pat to the thigh as he scooted off of Steve’s lap. “Go clean your filthy face, buttbreath.”

Steve did as he was told, dashing off to the bathroom to brush his teeth, wash his face, rinse four times with mouthwash, and brush again. Very quickly, though. When he felt clean enough to chance letting Tony kiss him, he hustled back out to the bedroom. 

Tony was lying in the center of their bed, sheets pooled about his hips, one hand on his heart and the other held straight out above him, making the morning light glint off his new ring. He turned to Steve with a smile in his eyes. Steve went to him, drawn like gravity, like falling, like flying. Tony’s arms around him made him whole; he put his around Tony in return, hoping to give that feeling right back. 

They stayed there a good long while, tangled in each other and the sheets, kissing softly, and less softly, glancing at their rings and giggling and kissing again. Until Tony looked across the pillow at Steve with an expression of mild panic, and asked:

“What the hell are we going to say when people ask how we proposed?”


End file.
